


wise men

by yuwuta (orphan_account)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Excessive Use of the Word “Red”, Guitars, Heavy Angst, M/M, Poems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-11 02:09:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17437898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/yuwuta
Summary: taeyong murmurs, "remember me, yuyu."





	wise men

**Author's Note:**

> tw; slight blood warning
> 
>  
> 
> apologies!! this is much shorter and unclear than i wanted it to be :(
> 
> un-beta’d

       

"godfuckingdamnit" is taeyong's first hybrid swear word of the night.

it's eleven pm, he _should_ be studying for a biology test, but he found his older sister's guitar; seeing that she's moved out, it wouldn't hurt to try and play.

except, it _does_ hurt- taeyong has barely learned two chords before he realizes his fingers are furiously red, little string-shaped lines tarnishing the tips.

still, he tries to move his aching hands up and down the neck.

"e chord, a chord, e chord, a chord," the freshman mumbles to himself.

 

he barely registers yuta knocking on his window minutes later, until the latter yells out, "dumbass, open up." it's muffled, but taeyong gets the general message.

once he's climbed through and seated on the bed, yuta grins, hard.

"ooh, milord, what girl doth you desireth to woo with thou sick guitar tunes?" yuta's making _obscene_ gestures towards taeyong, who's sitting on the black carpet.

"the fuck does that mean, yu," taeyong whines- it's too late for his friend's shenanigans.

 

"sex, you dumb virgin! i’m pretty sure girls like guitarists."

 

to that, taeyong responds,

"oh my god yuyu i'm not playing the guitar for a dumb girl i'm gayer than you and i don't know any love songs okay i barely know happy birthday and i'm really tired you should go to sleep at your own house."

 

yuta snatches the guitar from taeyong- impressive, considering they're 4 feet apart and yuta isn't on the floor with him. the tension taeyong didn't realize built up in him from his hunched back and tight muscles disappears.

"if you don't go to bed right now, i'll hump your sister's guitar."

"ew, i'm not sharing a bed with a you-"

"I. WILL. HUMP."

" _fine_ , god." so, as yuta carefully places the, knock on wood, unhumped instrument by the foot of the bed, taeyong climbs in. "don't try hugging me, dweeb."

"yeah, right."

 

.

 

"you're still on that guitar shit?" 

lunch break, they're sitting behind the school by themselves ("as it should be," yuta declared one day, "fuck these high schoolers."). 

taeyong skips out on his peanut butter and honey sandwich, and starts messing with the strings of the guitar, which was carried in a case a deeper red than his hair.

 

"it's been, hmm," taeyong fakes being deep in thought," _fourteen hours_ , so yes, i am still on that guitar shit. sorry."

"can i eat your sandwich?" asks yuta, his mouth already full with his own.

"sure, yu," he can only sigh.

 

.

 

the pair had met in preschool, when they were barely out of their diapers. it makes taeyong laugh now- to think they were so,  _so_ small, once three foot tall kings.

yuta sucked a cherry red lollipop and wore matching overalls.

taeyong doesn't remember what he ate for breakfast, but he'll never forget the first day he met him.

 

.

 

 

high school breezes by like a speeding motorcycle, all loud noises and an  aftershock.

then, there's university. 

without a second thought, taeyong chose to major in music. and yuta? _writing._

"okay but," taeyong says one saturday in their miniscule dorm room, turning the silver knobs up and down on his brand-new guitar (he gave his old one away), "don't forget me when you're rich and famous."

 

the other boy looks up from his death note manga, and muses, "ditto."

 

 

 .

 

 

 that night, when taeyong's out with his equally musical friends, yuta writes. barely anything, but still, he writes.

 

 

_my starlight,_

_may you shine forever,_

_glow until our time's up_

_and_ _we become a_ _supernova_

 

 

.

 

 

the two sit on their black couch, even stickier than normal, with their legs intertwined.

"yong, can we talk?"

for once, taeyong isn't on his guitar, instead he's playing slither.io on their shared laptop.  for once, yuta is serious, and he isn't. 

he snorts, "hi, yuyu."

"what am i to you?"

oh. taeyong has the slightest idea of where _this_ is heading.

closing the laptop, he says, "my best friend of like, 20 years. why?" 

the room is awkward, too awkward, and taeyong can't bear it. he wants to hide, somewhere from the confession about to pour out of yuta-

"you're my best friend too." a weak smile.

"are we, uh- yu, can i go back to slither.io, i was number seven, you interrupting fuck,” he whines with not real intent of insult.

the flannel he wears, a gift from yuta way back when, shrunk in the wash, twice lost in the back of the closet, even  barfed on at some dumb party, is faded. yuta's face is the same when he drops the bomb.

"i like you."

and taeyong's said he hates relationships, said he can't handle love, but he kisses yuta, until his heart quakes and their lips tingle with each other. 

yuta says from taeyong's hold, "i think you do, too, wild guess!"

"fine, dumbass."

 

.

 

while yuta's showering before their nth date, the guitar's six strings call out to taeyong, begging for his calloused fingers to touch them.

the boy strums softly, and sings in english,

"wise men say only fools rush in," and the rest comes out in jumbled konglish, but yuta knows the song, and taeyong, well enough to sing in the shower.

their voices, separated by an apartment wall only, are sweet and salty, bitter and sour, but it works so beautifully every time that taeil, their neighbour and biggest fan, looks forward to it every third day.

("nah," yuta tells him when he's over one day, "yong and i too old to audition, not like those kpop babies."

"27 is not old," taeil, the thirty year old, retorts.

"eh, you and the guitar are enough of an audience.")

 

.

 

red.

three days ago, yuta and him sang together, yuta watched disney movies, yuta picked up taeyong's guitar and tried to play, only to almost give himself a headache.

three days later, yuta is red.

fresh blood stains his pale skin everywhere, from the huge gashes on his chest and back, to the random cuts on his legs, face, arms.

taeyong _screams,_ begs for him to "stay alive, stay alive, please, yu, baby, oh my god, _fuck."_

help doesn't arrive fast enough. yuta knows he has only seconds left, so he grins with the mark of death,

"love you, yong. remember me."

" _yuta_!"

taeyong sobs, warm tears giving final drops of life to his lover's cold skin.

 

.

 

_"hi, i am yuta and i like your power rangers," a chubby four year old greets him._

_"hello, yuyu, i am taeyong."_

_"yuyu is not my name!"_

_"yes it is!" taeyong's equally chubby self giggles._

 

_._

 

he dyes his hair back to black for the funeral the next friday. red reminds taeyong of that day, so he won't have it on him.

yuta's casket is closed, his body too mangled by the car accident for normal eyes to see.

taeyong kisses the wood, and murmurs, "remember me, yuyu."

he plays the same song on that day, the shower one, when he's home.

the guitar string breaks.

shakily, taeyong breathes out, places it in the case, and shoves it under his bed. 

"no more music in my life," he laughs, broken sobs intertwined.

.

when he goes through yuta's things (for shipping to his family that had moved back to osaka), he finds poems. so many poems, and he reads them all until the sun sets.

 

_remember me_

_even if we separate_

_remember me_

_even if we're hostile to love someday_

_remember me_

_even if your tired fingers stop making music_

_remember me_

_and i promise i'll always_

_remember you_

 

"me too, yuyu," taeyong sniffles out. “promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> im sORRY


End file.
